CORNER SHEPARD

a gravel voice dirty hands fall and winter in his hair fire eyes looking for a curious glance as he points up signaling the end, suggesting everyone line up under stars and sun as arrows target the weights and measures unlocking the door within you

THE HAND

is a perfect flower opening with morning stretching, reaching, designing moments achieving success fulfilling needs, desires, preparing to create protecting, supporting this day this evening until night when resting dreams stir them without our permission

A BAG OF SALVATION

words on stone as angels pass over where clouds hold tight the soul of belief as winds push back and then forward to the promise at the highest point where air is fresh like cool water filling your spaces washing onto your shoreline the best of all parts

DISTANCE

he stretched to the moon his hand, fingers pointing into unknown fathoms with an ethereal line breaking beyond gravity and limits as he stood on the soil of his part of the earth looking up into the dark and black tempting, taunting the distance from her to there in defiance 

ABANDONED

weathering is an expression of time displayed, faded paint like aged skin a balding roof front porch chains minus a swing, a three legged chair an unhinged screen door windows without glass spider webs and vines weeds and the wild reclaiming what once was alive

THERE BEFORE US

each year a roadside meadow bordered by stonewalls breathes a harvest of wild flowers and weeds sharing soil and space rain and wind seasons of change providing evidence of a glorious gift

ALMOST

on the other side of time, the area between is crowded with shadows, broken promises and the right to be understood as changes occur like the flow of clouds, nameless, but important, almost enough to break into the blues like reliving the history of each year, after the first breath of morning as day passes … More ALMOST

RIVER VOICE

the voice of the river surface gentle troubled deep the warning drifts past stirring desire and fathomed fear water prints, smooth circled twists, suggesting what lies below and out of sight the flow is a deliberate force to the ocean slow and continuous, unmatched, unchallenged

SOFTLT ABOVE

the last clouds of day are rooms over the ocean, curtains of moisture reabsorbed, exposing a a carpet of stars, glistening sweetness nourished by angels as we trespass beneath heaven